Always Second Best
by imaginethatmel
Summary: This is the tale of two twin sisters and the men that love them.
1. Chapter 1

Some people say that having a twin is like having a ready-made best friend. In some ways, it's true. But when you're stuck being the lesser of the two, it's like being a living shadow. It's like being the left over toys at the garage sale. It's like being a used car in a lot full of brand new BMWs. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister with my whole heart. But sometimes I wish I could be to one in the spotlight instead of the one in the background.

Rosalie is my younger sister. Of course, when I say younger, I mean by 7 minutes and 43 seconds. I came out, quiet and calm and the doctors were all stumped by how calm I was. I didn't even cry until they spanked my butt. I was just curious about my surroundings. They handed me to my dad who showed me to my mom and they tell me that they oo'd and aww'd over me as much as they could until my mom's contractions started up again. Then, my dad passed me over to a nurse and held my mom's hand until my sister came into the world, kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs. My mom says that I was so quiet because it was like I knew they couldn't take two babies screaming. So I left the screaming and attention getting to Rosalie. And that is how it has always been.

When we were babies, my mom says that I was the perfect baby, better than any one could hope for. I never cried unless I was hungry or tired. I was always smiling and gurgling at them. Rosalie, on the other hand, was a handful. She was the typical baby, crying all the time and constantly waking up my parents. Because of that, naturally, she got more attention than I did. I don't resent it, because that is what had to be done. If I was crying, I got held. If she was crying, she got held. Unfortunately, I never cried so I was left on my own to entertain myself with my teddy bear and pacifier. When we got older, Rosalie was the first one to start walking. Of course, I started later that day, but when I did it, it wasn't a big deal because Rose had done it already. The same thing went for talking and reading and every other stepping stone in our life.

You see, Rosalie was a certified genius. Literally. Well, almost. When we were going into kindergarten, we both went through testing and, of course, she tested way higher than me. She was what they called "profoundly gifted" and I was somewhere between average and slightly above average. So I guess I was slightly slightly above average. So, Rose was smart. And attention grabbing. She was also downright gorgeous.

Rose is what you would call stunning. And that's exactly how everyone that meets her feels at first, stunned. She has platinum blond hair, gorgeously large baby blue eyes, and golden skin that seems to simply absorb the sun and reflect it back at people. She is also statuesque with mile long legs and a teeny tiny waist. She did a bit of modeling when we were younger, actually. We were in the mall with my mom one day when we were about 8 and a lady came up to us, handing my mom a flyer.

"This young lady must be your daughter, she's beautiful!" the lady said as she touched Rosalie lightly on the head and smiled at my mom. "And who's this one?" she said as she smiled politely over at me.

"That's my other daughter. They're twins" my mom said offhandedly as she was studying the flyer intently. Rosalie was staring at the lady's strange colored hair, just like I was and I could tell she was about to ask about it. I touched her arm and shook my head as she frowned at me and crossed her arms.

"Well, isn't it too bad she doesn't look more like her sister," the lady stated in a pitying tone. My mother looked up from the flyer and fixed her gaze on the lady, making her shift uncomfortably. Rosalie glanced over at me quickly and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Apparently she wasn't angry anymore.

"Actually, it isn't. Is there something you wanted?" The lady cleared her throat awkwardly and started her sales pitch.

"I represent Seattle Models Guild, one of the top modeling agencies in Washington and we are looking for the new face of our spring campaign. Have you ever considered getting your, ehem, girls into modeling?" she asked, careful to not offend us anymore. She continued to give information to my mom who was soaking it all in.

Later that evening, around the dinner table, mom was discussing it with my dad, who wasn't as convinced as my mother was.

"Charlie, this could be a great opportunity. Lacy from my book club was a model when she was younger and she said that from just a couple of jobs, she was able to pay for college. Her mother saved the money she made in an account and she was able to go to almost any school she wanted to! Don't you want that for your daughter?" my mother said, as she looked over fondly at Rose. Rose smiled up at my mom and then looked over at me.

"Belly can do it too, right mama?" My mom looked over at me and gave me the same smile the lady at the mall gave me.

"I don't think so, Rosalie. Bella, you wouldn't even want to do it, would you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, confused why I couldn't do it with Rose.

"Renee, I think it would only be fair to Bella if she gets a chance, just like Rose. If one gets it and the other doesn't, I think we shouldn't proceed," my dad said in the tone of voice he gets when he wants no more questions about it.

That same week, we went to the modeling agency with my mom and Rose and I took so many pictures that my face hurt from smiling so much. We waited about a week until the people called back one day when Rose and I were at school. That night at dinner, my mom pleaded with my dad to let Rose do this because, of course, Rose got it and I didn't.

"Girls, I got some exciting news from the modeling agency today," my mom said as soon as we sat down at the table. Rose and I both looked at each other and squealed loudly.

"Did we get it?" we both asked at the same time. My mom glanced at me briefly before continuing on.

"Actually, Bella wasn't selected this time, but Rose, you were! Isn't that exciting sweetie?"

"Renee, what did I say? I don't want her to do it. It's not fair to Bella," my dad said as he put his hand over my arm. My mom huffed in annoyance.

"Bella doesn't really care, do you sweetie? Don't you want Rose to do this?" I didn't really, but for the last 2 weeks, all Rose was talking about was how cool it would be to be a model. She was so excited about it. I was too, I just wasn't as invested as she was. It hurt my feelings that she was picked and I wasn't, but I wanted her to be happy, and the modeling would make her very happy.

"No, I don't mind. If Rose wants to do it, then she should," I mumbled as I pushed around the food on my plate. Rose was looking at me curiously, but she didn't say anything.

"Perfect! Then it's settled. Rose and I will go up there this weekend. Bella, maybe you and daddy can have a fun day fishing!" she said as she started eating her food, still beaming at Rosalie.

Later that night, I was in my room finishing some homework when I heard Rose coming toward my door.

"Come in," I said before she even knocked. We've always been able to do that. It comes with the territory of being twins; we always know when the other is close by. It's like a sixth sense. She opened the door quickly and shut it behind her softly before flinging herself down on my bed. I turned in my desk chair to face her.

"You don't want me to go to the modeling place," she stated matter-of-factly. I should have known she would pick up on that.

"It's not that I don't want you to do it, it's that I wanted to do it too."

"Then I won't do it. I don't want to make you sad," she said. And the thing is, she totally meant it. Because no matter how much attention she gets for her looks and smarts, Rosalie is a genuinely good person. She is sweet and caring and she really and truly wants me to be happy. Dang her and her perfection.

"Rosie, how about you do it for both of us. Since they don't want me, you can do it and tell me all about it, k? I don't really mind that much. Besides, I have my art classes so it probably wouldn't have worked anyways," I told her reassuringly.

"Are you lying?"

"Nope."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky pinky promise." She smiled at me and jumped up to give me a huge hug. That weekend, she and my mom went into Seattle and took care of the details. For the next few years, and all throughout high school, she took modeling jobs here and there and made a pretty good name for herself. When we graduated, she decided not to pursue a career in modeling and instead decided to go to MIT.

Like I said earlier, Rosalie was a nearly certified genius, which meant that every subject in school came relatively easy to her. She especially excelled in math and ended up taking AP calculus and statistics in high school. She got straight As in her other classes as well, and was Valedictorian. Because she was whip smart without even trying, she was able to do an abundance of extra curricular activities including, but not limited to cheerleading (of course), student council (class president), debate team (club president), and soccer (varsity captain). She was the golden girl of the school and everyone loved her. She was the girl everyone wanted to be, but no one hated because she was too nice to dislike. She was at every party, at every school function, and almost always on the front page of the school newspaper. Everyone knew her, which also meant that everyone knew me. Or at least of me. I was the other Swan. The school's nobody girl. While Rosalie was the shining star, I faded into the background and came out the other side without changing the school or making a name for myself. The only lives I had probably impacted were my art teacher's, my math teacher's, and my best friend's. My art teacher thought I was going to be famous someday, my math teacher wanted to quit after she tried and failed to teach me, and my best friend because, well, he was my best friend so I like to think I made high school bearable for him.

One thing I should mention is that I do excel at one thing, and that would be art. I have gifted hands, what can I say? But really, I am quite talented. Because I was just an average student and barely scraped by with Bs (by working my butt off every night AND having Rose tutor me in math and science), I needed something to compensate for my pathetic excuse for life. That compensation came in the form of art. Ever since I was little, I was creative and found inspiration in everything. I still do, which is why I'm successful, thank god. I took to drawing like a fish takes to water. As I got older, I took art classes through the community center and I dabbled in all kinds, clay making, sculptures, figure drawing, and all kinds of painting. I loved every one of them, especially the portraits. I took a class on portraits at the community college when I was in high school and fell in love the very first day. Anyways, my high school art teacher, Mrs. Jones, believed in me like nobody else did. My parents never understood, and Rose tried to but never really got it. Mrs. Jones put in extra time with me during lunch, after school, and sometimes before school. She pushed me to my limits and made me hate art and love it at the same time. She taught me to find my passion for the subjects and how to transfer that to the art piece. She would tell me all the time that I was her protégé and that if she had ever had a daughter, she wished she were like me. She was, and still is, my biggest fan and I love her for it.

Because of my passion for art, I decided to pursue that as a career. My mother didn't approve at all, saying that I would never succeed because I wasn't good enough. I don't blame her for saying that because she was only trying to prepare me for the real world, but at the same time, I resented her for not believing in me. My dad did. My dad always believed in me, he just never expressed it. While Rose takes after my mom in looks and some personality, I take after my dad in both. As you've probably guessed, we're fraternal twins. Where she is a blond bombshell, I have the average looks and coloring. I have dark brown hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. I'm not ugly by any means, but I'm also not gorgeous. I'm just…average. The only thing Rose and I have in common is that we are the same height, even though I am curvier than her. I'm slim, but I definitely have hips and breasts. She always tells me she's envious of that, even though she definitely has curves too, they're just not as full as mine. Anyways, along with taking after my dad in looks, I also take after him in temperament. I've always been pretty shy and quiet, more than willing to let Rose take over the spotlight. I like to think I'm a nice person, but when I'm with my close friends and Rose, I tend to have a sarcastic bite and a rather silly personality. I guess you could say I march to the beat of my own drum. You have to understand, thought, I had to. I had to do things differently than Rose because otherwise, she always overshadowed me. Call it self-preservation.

So, while Rose chose to go the more intellectual route and attend MIT, I chose to follow my dreams and went to RISD (Rhode Island School of Design). It was actually my reach school, but the board of admissions guy personally called me to thank me for applying and tell me they were more than happy to accept me into their school. He said that my portfolio had brought a few of the board members to tears (an exaggeration, I'm sure) and that they would be lucky to have me there. As soon as I got off the phone with him, I cried. My best friend was right there with me, seeing as we were working on homework, and he just held me until I calmed down enough to tell him I was actually accepted not denied. Then he cried with me.

Edward, my best friend, was just like that. He felt what I felt and I felt what he felt. Sometimes it felt like we were twin as well. Only I guess we were fate twins. We met freshman year of high school and have been inseparable since then. He was what you would call a nerd. He was tall and lanky, having not quite grown into his limbs that seemed to flail whenever he moved. He was awkward in just about everything he did and extremely clumsy, but then again so was I. He was extremely smart, though. He was second in our class, just behind Rosalie. Unlike Rosalie, he was extremely unpopular, just like me. I guess we were meant to be best friends. He was the president of the chess club (no joke) and the co-president of the Pre-pre med club (which he also co-founded). He wanted to be a doctor, just like his dad. The thing is, I could totally see him becoming a doctor back then because of his gentle nature when handling people. Even though he was awkward and clumsy, he was unendingly sweet and empathetic. He loved kids too, which is why he wanted to go into pediatrics. His mom and dad were incredibly supportive of his decision to follow in his dad's footsteps. Although, when I think about it, they would have been supportive of him if he wanted to work at McDonald's for the rest of his life.

So, Edward and I were the best of friends and we did pretty much everything together. We weren't in the same classes but we were together during breaks, lunch, after school, and weekends. Nights, of course were saved for my bonding with Rose, something we had started when we were really little. She always came into my room and laid down in my bed while we talked the night away. We always fell asleep before she could move back to her own room. We did this until we moved away for college, actually, even on the nights when she came home super late from a party. She would slip into bed with me and tell me all about it. Edward and Rosalie were pretty much my only friends. They were everything to me. That's why I was so glad when we all ended up so close for college. Edward went to NYU for pre-med and medical school, Rosalie went to MIT for engineering, and I went to RISD for art.

It turns out, after we all finished college (at different times, of course) we all ended up back in Seattle. This, however, is not a story of the past. It's the story of the very recent past that could almost be described as the present, even though the events I'm about to tell you already happened. So, here we go. Part 1: My successful tale of life after college and starting my own gallery.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 1: My successful tale of life after college and starting my own gallery.

The sound of my phone ringing awoke me from my deep sleep, something I hadn't been getting a lot of lately. Without opening my eyes, I reached out blindly to feel for my phone on the bedside table. I grabbed it and answered it just as I was yawning and partially opening my eyes.

"Hello?" I said/yawned.

"Bells? Were you seriously sleeping at 2 in the afternoon?" a familiar voice questioned me with a partly incredulous and partly amused tone. I glanced over to the clock sitting next to me and confirmed that I had indeed slept until the afternoon.

"Give me a break, Eddie-boy. I was working until 4 this morning and I was exhausted."

"Don't call me that. And I guessed as much. What time does the exhibit start? Don't you have to primp and all that"

"What are we, back in the 1800s? I don't primp. The exhibit starts at 6 so I have plenty of time to _get ready_," I said, emphasizing the "get ready" part.

"Excuse me for using proper English. Geez homie, cut yo boy some slack," he said, trying to sound gangster. I cracked up into the phone as I listened to his silky smooth voice attempt to sound anything other than educated and proper.

"If you are done attempting to get hip with the lingo, I think I'll just go check on the setup. I wish you were coming, Edward," I trailed off sadly. It had been almost 4 years since I had left school and Edward. He was finishing his last year of Medical School before he came back to Seattle to do his residency at the same hospital as his father. Because of expenses and bad timing, we hadn't even crossed paths in those 4 years.

"I know, Bells. I should be there, but I can't. I am taking my finals in two weeks and then I'm coming home. For good. And I will practically live in your gallery at every moment that I'm not at the hospital." I smiled.

"I'll have to set up a cot in the back room, right next to mine. Cohabitation, but not really habitation. I could even bring in those emergency toilet things that have the curtains around them. We would never have to leave, except for when you go to the hospital. Then I guess you could use the bathroom there so the emergency toilet thing isn't really necessary. Except I would still need it. So that's going on my grocery list. Right under the extra cot and top ramen." He laughed his hearty laugh that filled my heart to the brim.

"Sounds like an excellent plan." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "Are you nervous?"

"More than I ever thought I would be."

"I wish I was there."

"I wish you were too."

"But guess what?"

"What?"

"You're going to have the emergency toilet thing to puke into so you don't even have to worry about that." I laughed.

"True that." We were silent for a few moments until the ringing of my landline made me jump back to the present.

"That's my other line," I said regretfully.

"Someone's popular today. I should go anyways. I'm supposed to be studying. Good luck tonight, Bells. You're going to knock their socks off."

"Bye hot stuff. Don't forget to call me tomorrow!" I finished quickly.

"Wouldn't dream of it." And then he was gone. I sprang out of bed and sprinted the couple steps into the kitchen just in time to catch the call before it went to voicemail.

"Hello?" I answered breathlessly.

"Isabella! I'm so glad you answered. I was wondering when you were planning on joining us at the grand opening of YOUR gallery," the voice on the other side questioned sarcastically.

"Hello Gianna." My representation, Gianna, was a piece of work. She was a gorgeous English woman in her mid thirties that had a knack for taking struggling artists under her wing and making them into big named stars. She found one of my paintings in the trash behind the art supplies store I worked at. She picked it out from the middle of yesterday's lunch and the remnants of today's tacos. To say I was shocked when she came storming through the doors and demanded to know where "this stroke of genius" came from would be the understatement of the century. I stuttered out something unintelligent that she dismissed with the flick of her hair.

"Never mind then. I can tell that this must belong to you. It's clearly a self-portrait of sorts. You brilliantly captured the expression of self-loathing and dissatisfaction that is currently etched across your brow." Guess I should work on that.

"Uh…thanks?" was my well-educated response. She sauntered over to the shelf that I was currently stocking with bulky frames and looked me straight in the eye.

"You have got the talent of the masters, darling, and I would be honored to lift you out of your current obscurity. Alright, then?" From then on, Gianna was my manager of sorts, selling my pieces to any buyer she could find, making me a small fortune. I then took that small fortune and I put it all into opening my own gallery, my lifelong dream. Gianna helped me advertise the opening and handled the business side of the venture while I spent every moment I wasn't painting or working at the store in my little gallery, planning its theme and its design. I had decided to stick with my specialty of portraits and go with the gallery name _Expressions_ seeing as my paintings were all about expressing the unexpressed. Deep, I know. Today was the grand opening of the gallery and Gianna was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, classily of course. She was currently at the gallery overseeing the set up of the easels and the hanging of the paintings. Which is apparently why she was calling.

"Hello darling. I was just hoping you were going to get that pretty bum out of bed and down to the gallery. We're in a bit of a spot with some of the exact location of the paintings and it would really help if the ARTIST where here telling us what exactly she wanted." She sounded like she was about to have a panic attack.

"Gianna, breathe. I am getting dressed as we speak and heading down there in 5. I'll see you soon."

"You better not show up here in those blasted jeans and ratty t-shirt, love. I just might have to, as you say, flip a shit." I laughed and hung up the phone. I love that woman. Much to her dismay, I changed into a pair of jeans and my favorite t-shirt that Edward had given to me for my 16th birthday. It was a plain baby blue background with the simplest pictures of a group of nuns in the middle. Underneath were the words "All the single ladies." When I opened it, I cracked up. It was a long standing joke between Edward and me that we were both going to end up going into the church, me as a nun and him as a monk because of our perpetually single states. Of course, if it were up to me, we would be together but that's just because I have been secretly in love with him since our sophomore year. He however harbors nothing but platonic feelings for me. He's never actually said anything, but I kind of just assumed because he hasn't made a move on me in 12 years.

After getting dressed, brushing my teeth, throwing my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head, I grabbed my keys and rushed out the door and into my old truck, sending up silent prayers that my truck would work today. God was listening today because on the 5th try, it turned on. I sped out of my neighborhood and made it to my gallery in record time. I pulled into the back alley and walked into the open back door. The gallery itself was very open and airy. I painted the walls taupe that seemed to make the natural colors in the paintings pop. I sectioned off the gallery based on the subjects so there were sections for men, women, children, couples, families, and friends. Each section had a different quote painted underneath the section title that provided some background for why those things are important. For example, under the Women section is the quote "One is not born a woman, one becomes one." Painting women is my favorite because they are often the hardest to capture their true expressions. My second favorite is families because I love capturing the relationship and feelings between them. Under the title for families, I put the quote "Families are like fudge, mostly sweet with a few nuts." Edward said that one is his favorite. He also liked the one under the couples section which says, "Couples who love each other tell each other a thousand things without saying a word," commenting that it was very appropriate for an art gallery full of expressions.

As I was directing the handyman and fixing all my paintings so they would hang just right, I looked around my gallery and was overcome with the sudden emotion of it all. This little hole in the wall was my dream and it was coming together so quickly. I was terrified that it was going to fail, that I was going to fail. Gianna came over to where I was standing, staring blankly at a painting of two children at the park playing on the swing set. She set her hand on my shoulder and grasped my chin with her hand, turning me to look at her.

"When I saw your first painting, that self-portrait, I knew there was something to you. When I saw the rest of your paintings, especially that one of the mother and her newborn baby, I knew you were a gift. I haven't ever felt as confident in any of my artists as I feel with you. You're a good girl, you know. And a good artist. You're going to make it big, love. I just know it." She patted my reddened cheek and stalked off the find the rest of the table settings. Because it was the grand opening, I had contact flyers on tables around the gallery. The tables also held refreshments like assorted nuts and chocolates. At the back of the gallery was a table that had lemonade and coffee set up for any one to take. I wanted people to feel comfortable here, relaxed and at ease. Rosalie says that this place is like a mix between a boho coffee shop and a high-end museum. I guess that sums it up pretty nicely. Speaking of Rosalie, as I glanced at my watch, I realized she should be showing up at any minute. She was bringing my parents with her and there was only about half an hour before the press arrived and the gallery officially opened. I was sweating bullets and ready to enter into full panic mode when Rose swept through the door. She pulled me into a fierce hug and held on tight. I may or may not have leaked a few tears. Maybe. Probably not, though. She pulled back and glanced around the gallery.

"This place looks amazing, sis. You really pulled it off. I knew you would. The setup of the paintings is a stroke of genius."

"Thanks," I mumbled as I turned red at her compliment. I turned to the table at my right and fanned out the flyers. Rose saw what I was doing and went around to the other tables doing the same. After everything seemed to be in order, I stood by the entrance with Rose on one side and Gianna on the other and waited for the people to arrive. As if someone had flipped a switch right at 6, people started pouring in as soon as I had opened the doors. I stood back a little overwhelmed at the amount of people entering into my small gallery, but I smiled and greeted everyone politely. When a journalist arrived with a cameraman in tow, I started to freak a little, realizing that they were going to want pictures of me in my gallery. Ever since the modeling agency when Rose and I were 8, I had avoided pictures like the plague while Rosalie basked in them. I guess you could say I was a little traumatized and therefore never posed for pictures. Unless Rosalie pulled me into the frame or my dad was behind the camera, I was never photographed, which was how I liked it. I left that to Rose. However, this was my day and it was my gallery which meant they had to be pictures of me.

I was standing with an older couple who were questioning me on a painting of a couple around their age when Gianna came over and introduced me to the journalist, Paige Lewis and her cameraman, Tom. I excused myself politely from the couple and turned my attention to Paige and the interview that she seemed to be conducting on the spot. She asked about me, about my paintings, my art background, my inspirations, and finally my family. When she got to my family, she started to question me about Rosalie. I wasn't exactly expecting this, even though I should have, considering the fact that Rosalie was a renowned mechanic that worked on celebrity cars, invented a new type of fuel-efficient engine in college, and had several features in Car and Driver. She was every journalists dream story, all-American girl genius turned model, turned inventor, turned celebrity mechanic. I answered her questions as politely as I could, but tried to steer her attention back to the gallery. Unfortunately, at that moment, Rosalie came sauntering over to where I stood and introduced herself to the journalist. From there on, the interview was all about Rose. Truthfully, I should have known better. Rose LOVED to be interviewed. It was a chance to talk all about herself, one of her favorite topics. Usually she was understanding of my need to sometimes have the attention on me, but for some reason lately, she had been almost purposely overshadowing me. I didn't like it, but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to start an argument. I excused myself from the interview and was able to duck out without Paige Lewis even noticing. Rose glanced at me briefly with a guilty look on her face, but immediately turned her attention back to the interview. "So, how did it feel to be the only female picked out of a pool of applicants for this prestigi…"

The rest of the night passed in a similar manner. I tried to talk with as many people as I could, I answered their questions, I steered the journalists over to Rosalie after I had enough of them craning their necks to try to catch a glimpse of her, and I drank an insane amount of coffee. After the last person had left the gallery, long after my parents and sister went home, Gianna and I were the last ones at the gallery.

"You did good, dear. I'm so bloody proud of you. I'll come by tomorrow afternoon, yes?" I nodded my assent and smiled at her.

"Thanks for everything, Gi. I don't know how to ever repay you."

"Just keep giving me a quarter of the profits," she said with a wink. "Cheers, love."

After she had left, I stood in the middle of my gallery and looked around, going over the night. It was definitely a success and I had already sold a fair amount of paintings, but why was I feeling like such a failure? My self-portrait, the self-loathing one, flashed across my mind as I realized I just needed to go home and paint. The one thing I knew I could do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

For as long as I can remember, I have been taking care of Rosalie. Because she is so outgoing and adventurous and spontaneous, she got into quite a bit of trouble in high school. If she would get drunk at a party, or get busted trespassing on Old Man McWaters property, or get caught skipping class (which she didn't do often), I was always the one to bail her out. I came up with excuses, I stretched the truth, and sometimes, when she was desperate, I took the blame. I know it probably doesn't make sense, but Rose is my other half. She is everything that I'm not and if anything happened to her, I would be missing a very large portion of myself. So, I kept her out of as much trouble as I could, and when I couldn't, I took care of her, just like I know she would do for me.

Because Rosalie is so outgoing and adventurous, I'm the opposite. I never like to try new things because I don't like change. I never go on spontaneous adventures because I like carefully planned activities better. I'm a planner. I like schedules. I like order and routines. Rose, of course, is the opposite. Where I plan, she just does. She often doesn't think through the consequences, she just goes with what she feels like doing. She also doesn't like schedules and routines. She loves change; in fact, she thrives on change. See? Exact opposites. That's how it is for everything, actually. Especially guys. Because Rose is a blonde bombshell, she has had guys throwing themselves at her from the time they knew what girls were. In elementary school, she was the girl getting kissed on the playground. In high school, she was the freshman dating the seniors, getting invited to all the dances, all the parties, and all the sports games. Later in high school, she was the one dating the captain of the football team, or that super sexy school loner. It was a parade of men. She never used them, or anything. She was never anything but fun and nice. But when she lost interest, she let them know gently and moved on to her next prey. It was an art really. That continued all throughout college. She would call me one Friday night and tell me about this amazing guy she's going out with and then the next Friday, it would be someone new. After college, she moved down to California for a while and continued the same thing. And then she came back to Seattle and seemed to settle down some, dating guys for months at a time.

And then there was me. In elementary school, I was the one that boys picked on, and not in the "I like you so I'll be mean to you" way. They put gum in my hair, pushed me down on the playground, and pulled my pigtails. In high school, they avoided me like the plague. I was never invited to school dances. I was never asked out on dates. I was never passed love notes in class. The only reason I went to my senior prom was because I begged Edward to go with me. We ended up leaving 10 minutes into the dance and went down to our old hangout at the park. That was more fun anyways. That unfortunately continued into college. I had guy friends, but none of them ever made a move on me. I actually had a crush on one of my really good guy friends, Jake. I thought something might happen there, but life happened and Rosalie happened.

It was the weekend of Easter my junior year of college and Rosalie was coming to stay with me for 2 nights. I was so excited to introduce her to my friends, and especially Jacob, who I wanted her to approve.

"Ok, so your train comes in at 6, right?"

"Right, and you better not be late to pick me up like last time," she said somewhat jokingly with a touch of seriousness.

"I won't! Geesh. You're an hour and a half late once and they never let you forget it." She laughed.

"So tell me which one I'm supposed to be scouting out, again?"

"Jacob. He's the super tall one with a great tan and a killer smile. You'll know who he is, trust me."

"Alright, I'll try not to flirt with him, but if he's hot, no promises," she joked. She didn't actually know that I was terrified he would like her better. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was funny and nice. I was just nice. Not for the first time, I wished with all my heart that I looked like Rose.

"That's not funny, Rose! I really like this guy."

"I know, Bella. I know. I would never take him away from you. You know me better than that." That's not true. In high school, I had the biggest crush on Jesse White. He was a year ahead of us and was in my art class. He was on the soccer team and was just a world-class hunk. I didn't tell anyone that I liked him, because I was too embarrassed, but I did tell Rosalie that I thought he was cute. The very next day, she sought him out and introduced herself to him. That same evening, she told me that she had met Jesse. "You're right, he is cute," she said with a wink and went off to her room where she proceeded to talk with him on the phone for hours. They dated for two weeks. It wasn't her fault that I didn't tell her I liked him, but at the same time, she should have picked up on my feelings, but she didn't. I called Edward that night and ranted to him about how unfair it was.

"Bells, you didn't tell her," he said calmly as he tried to calm me down.

"But I shouldn't have to! The fact that I told her I think he's cute should have been enough," I practically yelled at him. Thankfully, Rose was downstairs watching TV, so she couldn't hear me having a hissy fit.

"This is typical Rosalie, kid. This is what she does. You should know that by now."

"I do! I do. I just…I like him a lot, Edward. It's just not fair," I said lamely as tears filled my eyes.

"I know, Bells. I know. But if he likes Rosalie better, than he isn't worthy of you. He's clearly too stupid to see that you're way cooler than she is," he stated fiercely. That is one of the main reasons why I've stayed as close to Edward as I have. He is the one person, besides my dad, that doesn't think Rosalie is better than me. He knows both of us, yet he still likes me better. I've never understood it, but I've also never questioned it. I've just enjoyed it.

So anyways, when she came that weekend in April, she did what she does best and she stole the spotlight. When she met Jacob, I could just see the slobber coming from the corners of his mouth. I'm pretty sure he shifted uncomfortably a few times like she was his wet dreams come true and he was trying to control his, um, little problem.

"Hi there, I'm Jacob," he said as he literally shoved his way to the front of the group where I was standing with Rose introducing her around. He shoved his hand out in front of him.

"Ohhhh, so you're Jacob. Bella has told me all about you," she said as she placed her hand in his and winked at me. Cue blush.

"Good things, I hope," he said as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. That smooth mother trucker. The rest of the weekend passed in much of the same manner. Jacob was bending over backwards to get as close to Rosalie as he could and she just laughed it off. Saturday night, I was in my dorm room finishing up a paper when Rosalie came flouncing in.

"Guess what?" she squealed. I turned to face where she had landed on my bed like she had done so many times before.

"What?"

"Jacob is taking me out to dinner at that new Italian restaurant I've been dying to go to. They only have it here in Providence, you know." I just stared at her with my mouth hanging open.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked angrily as I snapped my textbook closed and stood up abruptly. Rosalie looked startled at first, and then annoyed.

"What are you getting all pissed about? You're the one that wanted me to get to know him. So that's what I'm doing. He's taking me to dinner and I'm sure all we are going to talk about is you," she said as she sat back on the bed and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. I sat back down, defeated.

"But he's...I mean he'll…I just…" I couldn't even think of what to say.

"Look, Bells. If you really don't want me to go, I won't. I don't want to upset you," she stated calmly and soothingly. I thought about it for a moment and I knew I couldn't say no. There was no reason for me to say no to her. She wanted to go to that restaurant so badly, and it wasn't like she was going to date him.

"It's fine, Rose. You can go. I'm sorry I overreacted." I turned back to my book and started back up with my paper.

"Apology accepted," she said brightly, "I'm going to use the bathroom to get ready."

They went out that night, and she didn't say anything about it when she came back. When I asked her if she had fun, she just shrugged and said the food was good. That next day, I took her to the train station and she didn't come back to visit for the rest of the year. I was always the one to go down there. The next time I saw Jacob, he asked me for Rose's number so that he could call and apologize and maybe set up another date. When I asked him what happened, he said he kissed her and she got upset. My heart broke into about a million pieces. I didn't talk to Jacob the rest of that year. When I called Edward to tell him what happened, he just listened to me cry and called Jacob an asshole and Rosalie a bitch. I didn't correct him on either account. That was the last time I told Rose about anyone I liked. I also didn't let her near any of my future crushes. I could only be second best so many times before I learned my lesson.

That night after my gallery opening, I went home and I holed up in my room for hours and painted a picture I had taken of a women sitting on my favorite park bench. She was about 30 years old, and when I really studied her face in the picture, I could see despair written all over her face. Something happened to make her so depressed and sad. I wished that I had noticed that day in the park so that I could have talked to her, but I had only snapped the photo and left. With every brush stroke I made, I could feel her expression come to life. I could feel her story unfolding beneath my hand. It was like she was speaking to me through the picture and I was translating that to the canvas. This is what I loved. I loved creating a life in a painting that would have otherwise been overlooked. It made me feel powerful and great.

I didn't get to bed until around 6 in the morning, and I slept even less than the night before. The ringing of my phone awoke me once again. Without even looking at the caller id, I answered.

"This is becoming a really bad habit, my friend," I grumbled. He laughed.

"Painting into the wee hours of the morning again?"

"Obviously," I yawned. "What time is it?"

"Well, it's 1 o'clock here which means it's 10 there. Shall I call back later?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, it's fine. I'm up now thanks to you." I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom where I relieved myself. I had done this so many times with Edward on the phone that he didn't even comment on it other than his usual "eww."

"So, I'm dying to hear how it went! Give me the details, woman!" So I did. I told him everything. I told him how I was so nervous at first that I thought I was going to need that emergency toilet. I told him how I was so excited that so many people came that I nearly gave an elderly couple a heart attack with my enthusiasm. I told him about the trail of journalists. I told him about Rosalie. I told him about the sales. And I told him about the end.

"After it was over, I was literally just standing there. I can't even describe how I was feeling, Edward. I felt empty and lost. I felt confused, but happy at the same time. I felt relieved that it was over, but disappointed that is was too. I just locked up and came home to paint. I mean, what else could I do, ya know?" I had walked into the kitchen and was starting a pot of coffee. When the doorbell rang.

"Hang on, Edward, someone's at the door." I walked over and opened the door to find my sister standing there with tears streaming down her face.

"Uhh, Rose? What happened?" I asked as I stood to the side to let her in. Immediately she came over and wrapped her arms around me, awkwardly considering I was still holding the phone to my ear.

"Belly, I am s-so s-sorry. I didn't m-mean for it to g-go like t-that. Can you e-ever forg-g-g-ive me?" she sobbed into my shoulder. Meanwhile Edward was yelling into the phone, asking what's going on.

"Edward, I'm gonna have to call you back," I said quickly as I hung up the phone and threw it onto the couch. I led Rosalie, who was still clinging to me, over to the kitchen bar and helped her onto one of the stools. I sat down on the other and placed my hand on her shoulder.

"Rosie, what's going on?" I asked gently. She looked up at me with her red-rimmed eyes and sniffed loudly. I passed her the tissue box near my elbow.

"Belly, I'm so sorry about last night. I don't know what came over me. I should never have monopolized those reporters. I don't know what happened. I'm so sorry." She whispered as tears were still leaking from her eyes.

"Rosie, it's ok. I understand. You like reporters, you always have, hun. I wasn't surprised."

"But I should have known better! That was your night and I took it away from you."

"Hun, all you did was get the reporters off my back. No one in the gallery knew who you were. The rest of the people were there for me, not you. It was a success as far as I can tell," I said reassuringly. She looked up at me confused.

"You mean, they really didn't know who I was? I'm a nobody?" she could barely finish the last question before she started sobbing again. I kinda just sat there, confused and a little annoyed.

"Rose, what's really going on here?" I asked firmly. She said a few words that I couldn't understand because she was slightly hysterical.

"Rosie, I can't understand you," I said soothingly.

"Emmett doesn't even know I exist!" She exclaimed loudly before she started crying again. Ah, Emmett. Emmett is the head mechanic at Rosalie's garage here in Seattle and I've always wondered if there was something there. He is such a sweet heart. He used to be a linebacker for UCLA, which is where he actually met Rosalie. She was at UCLA for a mechanics workshop that he was also in. They got to talking and became good friends. When it came time for her to open her own garage, just about a year ago, she asked him to be the head mechanic and he readily agreed.

Emmett is like a big teddy bear. An extremely sexy teddy bear, but still just a giant sweetie. He is well over 6 feet tall with an incredible football player body, you know, the strong arms, big shoulders, and sexy thighs. He is one hundred percent muscle. He's got dark blue eyes and dark curly hair that sets off his tan skin and dimpled smile quite nicely. Ever since I met him a couple years ago when he was visiting Rose at NYU, I always thought they would be such a great pair. But she keeps denying there's anything between them and that they are just friends.

"Of course he does, Rose. He works for you. You guys have been friends for years. He adores you," I stated as I put my hand on her arm. She pulled it away quickly and shook her head.

"No! You don't understand. He doesn't…I mean I don't…Ugh! I don't know!" She finished with a huff. I nodded and smiled sympathetically.

"You love him," I said softly. She nodded slightly and a few more tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Yeah, I do," she sniffed. "I think I always have."

"I know, Rosie." I put my arms around her and pulled her into a hug. I stood up and pulled her with me to go sit on the couch. I moved my phone to the coffee table and sat us down, right next to each other with one arm still around her.

"The thing is," she started as soon as she settled into the couch, still clutching the tissue box, "he doesn't treat me like the other guys do. In the beginning, that's what I loved about him. It's like he's blind to how I look, you know? He likes me for me. But now, I don't know, I just…he just shares friendly small talk but it's like he doesn't even know me anymore. It's like we are barely acquaintances. And I don't know what to do."

"You could just tell him," I suggested. She snorted.

"Yeah right. And have him laugh in my face and reject me? Not gonna happen."

"Have you tried talking to him? Asking him what's going on?"

"…no."

"Why not?"

"…because I've been avoiding him?" I tried not to laugh.

"You've been avoiding him?"

"…yeah."

"Have you ever thought that's why he hasn't been as friendly?"

"…no…yes…I don't know! I just…ever since I realized that I loved him, I haven't been able to talk to him. I choke up whenever he's around. I have to exert all my strength not to just pummel him to the ground and have my wicked way with him. He's just so…god! I don't know! Gorgeous? Desirable? Sexy? I don't know what's wrong with me," she mumbled into her hands. I laughed.

"You're in love. That's what's wrong with you." She sighed heavily and looked up at me, looking utterly defeated.

"I don't know what to do," she said pathetically.

"You talk to him. You build your relationship back up. You be yourself and make him fall in love with you." I grabbed her face in between both my hands and looked straight into her eyes that were shaped just like mine. "You are brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and kind. There is nothing not to love, Rose. He knows that, I know that, hell! The whole world knows that. If he doesn't see it, then he's an idiot and not worth your time or tears."

"I love you, you know that?" she said as she laughed shakily and laid her head on my chest, right over my heartbeat. She always did that when we were younger and she was upset about something. She would crawl into my bed with me, lay her ear right over my heartbeat and just listen, feeling the comfort of my presence. I would stroke her hair and talk softly to her until she calmed down. Sometimes we stayed like that all night, and sometimes she would get up and go back to her own room. Right now, it seemed as though she had no intention of leaving. I grabbed the remote sitting next to my phone on the table and turned the TV on low. After a few minutes, I felt her breaths even out and I knew she was asleep.

We stayed like that for a while, her sleeping and me watching TV. A loud sound on the TV startled her awake and she sat up slowly, blinking sleepily at me. I gave her a soft smile and she returned it.

"Hey sleepy head. You ok?" I asked gently.

"Yeah, I really am sorry about last night," she mumbled. It sounded like she was ready to talk again.

"Tell me what happened," I said in a soft, yet demanding tone to encourage her to open up. She sighed.

"Ever since Emmett has stopped talking to me-"

"Or you stopped talking to him…" I interrupted.

"Don't interrupt."

"Sorry."

"I feel myself slipping away. I've been holing myself up in my office working on the business side of the garage and avoiding going out into the mechanic station, afraid I'm going to see him. Every time I'm around him, I feel like I'm invisible. I feel like he doesn't even know who I am. I mean, everybody knows who I am! I have never felt like this before, and I've been so thrown by it that I've been making an idiot of myself trying to get back to that feeling of being seen.

"With your gallery opening up, all the attention has been on you. It's never been like that before, and I didn't like it. I felt like I was slipping into the background and I thought maybe that's why Emmett wasn't paying me any attention. So, I tried to get back in the press. I set up interviews. I went onto the local TV stations. I broadcasted the garage and the new engine on the radio and Internet. I tried everything and he still didn't say anything about me or to me. I didn't know what else to do. Yesterday, before I left the garage, he was at the mechanic's table and I went to let him know I was leaving. I tapped him on the shoulder and he was definitely startled. I said, 'I'm taking off now, close up for me?' and he responded with 'Sure' and that's it. Not even a goodbye. He hadn't even looked me in the eye to say it. I was so frustrated that when I got here, I kind of lost it. I just needed to know that people still knew who I was and that I wasn't really fading away like I felt I was. I'm so sorry, Bella. It was mean, and cruel, and I shouldn't have done it," she finished quietly.

"It's ok, Rose. I get it. I don't blame you," and I meant it. Right now, all I wanted to do was go to that garage and smack some sense into Emmett, but that could wait for later. "How about I order some Chinese and we can relax tonight? I have to go to the gallery for a bit, but I'll be back around 6. You can stay here until I'm done, if you want to. Sound good?" She nodded.

"I have to pick up a few things from the garage, but it shouldn't take long. I'll meet you back here," she said as she got up off the couch and picked up her purse. As soon as she was gone, I picked up the phone and dialed Edward. He didn't answer and I didn't leave a voice message. I went into my room and made my bed while I was still mulling over what Rose had said. My phone suddenly chimed, bringing me out of my Rosalie/Emmett wedding fantasies and I saw that I had a text from Edward.

**I'm in class. What's up? - E**

** R came by and apologized for last night - B**

** Seriously? - E**

** Seriously. I've got loads of juicy gossip to share. Girls night tonight, but call me when you get time tomorrow – B**

** Will do, kiddo. TTYL – E**

** Don't call me that – B**

Thanks for reading :) I'd love to know what you think, so click on that review button! Until next time. - Mel


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